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A Market's Eve
 
On the eve of the approaching New Year, I found myself accompanying my mother to the heart of the bustling central market. As we approached, the all-too-familiar dilemma of securing a parking spot presented itself. For nearly ten minutes, we waited in silent anticipation until, at last, a space became free, and we slid in like weary travelers finding harbor.

Stepping into the market was anything but a festive delight. It seemed as though the entire town had descended upon this single hub of commerce, each soul driven by the need to gather their final provisions before the year's end. The crowd swelled, prices rose steeply, and the simple task of gathering our necessities became an exhausting battle against the throngs of eager shoppers.

Through the maze of stalls and vendors, we wove our way, collecting the essential fare—vegetables, meats, fish, noodles, and spices, each item ticked off our list with a sense of duty. Prawns, coveted for the New Year feast, had vanished entirely, snatched up despite their sky-high price, leaving only a trace of disappointment in their wake.

With every step, the weight of our bulging bags increased, and the air, thick with heat and chatter, pressed against us. The crowd, relentless and ever-growing, made each movement a challenge, and the cacophony around us became almost unbearable.

Overwhelmed by the oppressive atmosphere, I turned to my mother, telling her I could endure no more, and that I would wait at the car as she completed the last of our errands.

Dragging the bags behind me, I made my escape, finally reaching the sanctuary of our vehicle. As I stood by the car, the cool evening air wrapped around me, a balm to the chaos I had just escaped. I sighed deeply, savoring the quiet reprieve.

After what felt like hours, my mother emerged, visibly drained by the ordeal. Together, we loaded the groceries into the trunk, slid into our seats, and drove away, the hum of the air conditioner offering blessed relief from the frenzy we had left behind.
 
 
 

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